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Dear Family, Find Your Own Sh*t

Listen, I just can’t do this anymore. I am not the finder of all things, despite what you may believe. I know I am super smart and have eyes in the back of my head and catch you every time you dip into my chocolate stash. I realize you are in awe of me and all my talents, such as the many ways I bribe you to get your chores done, rub my feet, and keep quiet during a long car trip. I know all the ways to torture you, like making you pose for a quick family picture, or making chicken for dinner that is not in the form of a nugget. I am good, real good at this stuff. I would go so far as to call myself amazing even.

But when you are practically standing inside of the fridge, asking me if we have any milk when I can see its handle almost poking your cornea from 25 feet away, I grow a bit impatient. This causes me to lose my awesomeness, and we both know my temper will the be next thing to disappear.

You have all mastered the art of never being able to find a damn thing you are looking for — ever. And you thinking I know where all the items in the house are placed does not flatter me. Like, at all. I don’t even want to sort of know where everything is. I don’t want this responsibility any longer.

And P.S., if you need the butter, it’s where it’s been your whole entire life — in the butter dish in the cupboard where we keep the butter. If it is empty, grab a new stick out of the fridge. It there is no butter in the fridge, we are out of butter, k?

My hobbies do not include moving objects about the house just to confuse you all and make life more interesting. I’ve got better things to do with my time and no desire to exercise my cerebral cortex this hard.

I’m not sure if you are thinking, “Watch this, I’m going to make Mom hopping mad because it brings me a great amount of joy,” or you really believe I have even the slightest clue where your put your left sneaker. I just know this: I do not know where any of your shit is. Also, I am one person who can barely remember where I left the car keys or what day it is, so stop asking me to find one hundred things a day.

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I don’t always know if we are out of an item, but I can assure if you are wondering, you would be much better off if you used your energy to actually look for said item instead of yelling, “Ma! Where are my sweatpants?!” How many times do I need to lose my shit before you realize this is not effective, and nobody is winning here?

Perhaps if you took care of your belongings and put them in their place, you wouldn’t lose so many things. How ’bout that?

Please stop doing this to me, dear children and spouse. It annoys me the same way it annoys you when I chime in on your Skype conversations. Or when I break out in song in public. Or when I tell you I love you out the window in the drop-off line. Only instead of having one annoying person to deal with, I have all four of you, wondering where all the things are.

I am just as confused as you are when you are asking for the milk, but it is an inch from your eyeball. I absolutely cannot and will not help you. You need to help yourself. I’ve told you time and time again you are capable of doing anything and everything your heart desires, and that includes finding your colored pencils. The tone in your voice lets me know you want them pretty bad, so you better get on it, sweetie pie.

I am too busy trying to keep you all alive and keep your social calendars full so you don’t constantly complain about how bored you are — a talent I am really proud of. So you can see why I simply can’t squeeze in finding your library book for you.